The verb 'to rat'
by Sylvie Orp
Summary: Cowley was furious. "Next time an agent has an off day I want to know about it – when it happens, as it happens. Is that clear?"


Bodie had received devastating news out of the blue from an ex-girlfriend, Monica. She'd stormed off after handing him a bomb and he'd walked home in a daze as his world exploded. After a sleepless night he concluded that he'd need to see her again, talk it through more calmly. There had to be a solution. He felt he couldn't tell Doyle. It was too personal even for their friendship.

Doyle knew his partner well enough to detect that there was something bothering him. He'd not press for information. It seemed Bodie wanted space. If he wanted advice, he knew that Doyle would be there for him. It was a couple of days before Bodie got the chance to see Monica again. When he called round a man answered the door – a tough, flat nosed individual, his biceps rippling under a torn tee-shirt.

"What'd ya want?" he asked around the fag in his mouth, his piggy eyes screwed up against the smoke.

Monica stood behind him and said over his shoulder that she never wanted to see Bodie again but she'd be in touch eventually, he could be sure of that. She let the threat hang. Bodie didn't know whether the man – brother? boyfriend? – understood her meaning; Bodie did. He didn't want a private conversation with the troll standing between them like an unwanted chaperone, nor did he want a knock-down fight with the man so he left depressed, his questions unanswered.

Next day they were on an assignment with a couple of other agents – Macabe and Abbot. Doyle had noticed that Bodie had gone from taciturn to depressed. He had asked if there was anything his friend wanted to talk about but got a terse 'no'. He didn't push. Bodie would come round in his own time.

The four agents were backed into a tight corner that afternoon. They got into hand to hand stuff using any bit of lumber they could lay their hands on. Cowley had wanted the gang alive, but that was proving a bit difficult in the circumstances. Although outnumbered, CI5 eventually seemed to be getting the better of them. Doyle had the attention of two of them. He managed to knock one out and was dancing with the other who had a length of lead pipe in his hand. Bodie had sorted his attacker out, blocking and defending automatically, but seemed disinclined to help out elsewhere. Doyle got the better of his assailant and, he thought, had laid him out. He turned towards his partner, the other operatives cuffing the gang systematically. Abbot yelled out. Doyle looked towards him to see what he meant when the lead pipe man got up more quickly than Doyle would have thought possible and took a swing at him. Doyle wasn't quick enough and took a blow to the side of his head. He staggered, blood pouring from a gash. Abbot ran towards the man and clouted him with a crowbar before he could get his balance back. He didn't get up a second time.

"Where the hell where you, Bodie?" Abbot yelled. "You were barely a foot away. You could have stopped that!" He pointed to his colleague, who was barely standing.

"Let's leave the post-mortem till later," Doyle gasped. He didn't want a row in front of civilians.

Bodie drove his partner to the hospital while the other two waited for the wagon to take the gang off for questioning. They looked enquiringly at Bodie as he marched away with Doyle staggering uncertainly in his wake.

"What the hell's going on there?" Abbot asked his friend, but didn't think he'd have an answer.

Bodie wasn't looking forward to the drive. No doubt Doyle would have a lot to say about this afternoon's little incident. However he was too dazed to say anything, blood still pouring through his fingers as he tried to keep his head on his shoulders. Casualty wanted to keep him in for observation, after putting a few stitches in his scalp, but he would have none of it and insisted in going home. He said nothing on the homeward journey either. When they arrived, he slammed the car door and stomped off. His anger was too raw for words. Bodie wished they could at least have a row and clear the air. He hated Doyle's silences. You couldn't have a good argument in a vacuum.

Doyle refused to be signed off sick and reported to Cowley next morning. Cowley was not in a good mood.

"Doyle, I understand that Bodie allowed you to get hurt yesterday. This was an incident which he could have prevented. You could have been killed."

"That's laying it on a bit, sir," Doyle said defensively.

"I beg your pardon," growled Cowley, which sent the hairs on the back of Doyle's neck on high alert. "If an agent is below par, Doyle, I don't want a man killed just to save feelings; because it's too embarrassing to mention; because it feels like tattling to Father. Well, how would a dead agent feel instead, Doyle? Answer me that?"

Doyle didn't have an answer to that. He felt it very unfair that he was getting a dressing down when none of this was his fault. However, he couldn't counter Cowley's accusations. In his heart he knew that his boss was right. If an agent was not cutting it, it should be reported and the matter dealt with before someone got hurt or killed.

"Well?" Cowley barked.

Doyle wanted to rail but had no ammunition. He was still very angry with Bodie, and now felt that his friend at least owed him an explanation when they caught up with each other again. Even though he hadn't got one yet he would still blindly defend his partner to the hilt. But Cowley hadn't finished.

"Next time Bodie, or any other agent, has an off day I want to know about it – when it happens, as it happens. Is that clear?"

Doyle nodded.

"Clear?" Cowley yelled.

"Yes, sir. Clear, sir," Doyle shouted back, his head thumping.

Cowley gave him his orders for the day. Doyle didn't ask where Bodie was.

Doyle finished his assignment of interviewing witnesses that day and wanted nothing more than to buy more painkillers and to go home. As he was driving towards his flat he saw Bodie strolling down the street. He hadn't seen him all day or heard from him. He was in two minds whether to hail him or not. As he was debating, sat at red lights, Bodie saw him. Doyle opened the passenger door in invitation. It was up to Bodie whether he got in or not. He hesitated for a moment then flung himself into the passenger seat. It was clear that his depression – if that's what it had been – had turned to anger.

"You swine," Bodie yelled unexpectedly as Doyle set off on the green light. "I didn't think you'd go tattling to teacher just because you were daft enough to get your head caved in in the playground."

"What he hell are you going on about Bodie?"

"You know full well. I got a bollocking from Cowley cos you ratted on me. I'm now on suspension thanks to you."

"You get your facts right, mate. I got a bollocking too – and it wasn't even my fault," Doyle retaliated hotly. "There were other agents on the job too. Have you conveniently forgotten about them, eh? And what about the gang? They could have said something and probably delighted in saying it. What about them, eh? But no, you instantly think it's me going behind your back. So, is that what you think of me Bodie? Do you really think that I'd go running to Cowley? Well, thanks for that. It's nice to know what you really think."

Doyle was winding up like a coiled spring and prepared to fling other accusations when Bodie threw himself out of the car at the next red light. Doyle raged as he watched his partner stride across his field of vision to cross the road – and into the path of a car which was going too fast round the bend. It was instinct which hurled Doyle out of the car and across the road as the lights changed. He yelled, shoving Bodie hard as the car made impact. Bodie was aware of his name being called, the sensation of flying through the air, a woman screaming, a screech of brakes and the sickening thud of body hitting metal. It all seemed to compress into a single moment. Bodie landed hard on the pavement as the car narrowly missed him and wrapped itself round a lamp-post. He sat there dazed, distractedly nursing his arm, wondering momentarily whether the car had hit him or not. He looked about him in confusion. All was now quiet and still. Then a woman screamed again and people began to move. The only sight Bodie was focussed on was his friend sprawled untidily on the tarmac. The driver made his unsteady way out of the car, protesting his innocence. He and Bodie made for the body at the same time. The man pushed him out of the way saying he was a doctor. Bodie got a strong smell of alcohol from the man's breath.

"I can't feel a pulse," he said, fumbling with the casualty.

Someone said to no-one in particular that an ambulance had been called. Car horns began to blare. Passers-by jostled for position to view the casualty with ghoulish excitement.

"You can't feel your own arse the state you're in," Bodie snarled angrily as he pushed the doctor to one side and felt for a pulse for himself. Doyle began to stir, giving a lie already to the doctor's diagnosis. His head wound had opened up and his face was covered in blood. He looked unfocussed at his friend.

"I'm sorry, Ray," Bodie whispered sincerely as the sirens got louder.

At the hospital the doctors eventually decided that Doyle had concussion and hairline fractures of pelvis and arm. There was a possibility of internal injury and they'd keep him monitored, noting his earlier head wound. They said he was very lucky it was only a glancing blow in view of the speed of the car. Bodie had had his own needs seen to – a sprained wrist and skinned knees. He too had been lucky. He was allowed to see his friend, but Doyle was still unconscious. He sat by his bed, his mind blank. He knew he should be feeling something – guilt, anger, gratitude. But nothing came; only a dull physical pain from his injuries, but the painkillers he'd been given was even taking that away too. Bodie decided that things just couldn't get any worse. All he seemed to do was hurt people. He sighed, got up and left. There was nothing for him here.

Next day, Cowley came to see his agent. Doyle was still flat on his back as the injury to his hip made it difficult for him to sit up. He'd been ordered complete bed rest for at least several days. However –

"Doyle, just what has been going on between you and Bodie?"

"I wish I knew, sir. He hasn't told me anything. He seems in his own world at the moment. I did ask but he wasn't up to talking and I didn't want to push. If it's personal, it's personal."

"You know that there's nothing personal when you joined CI5. If there's something which is affecting a man's work, I need to know. Got it?"

"Can you save the lectures for when I'm at least on my feet, sir?" Doyle begged wearily.

"Bodie's disappeared," Cowley said suddenly. That got Doyle's attention. He tried to sit up but pain pressed down on him. He waited for more information. "He didn't report in. His passport's missing from his flat, but we've got the ports covered."

Doyle's mind raced through the past few days. He now wondered whether Bodie walking in front of the car had been deliberate. He went cold at the thought.

"How long has he been gone?"

"About 24 hours."

"Why wasn't I told?" Doyle was getting anxious.

"A small matter of unconsciousness," Cowley replied dryly.

"We need to find him."

"You're too ill."

Doyle struggled into at least a sitting position to prove he wasn't that ill.

"I'll find him," he said recklessly.

Cowley smiled at his agent's bravery against the odds. "The doctors won't like it."

Doyle told Cowley what he thought of the doctors.

"You're too ailing, laddie."

Trying to stifle his whimpering, Doyle managed to swing his legs out of bed and Cowley didn't attempt to stop him.

"Well I think you'd look a bit conspicuous walking down the high street in your underwear." He then produced a carrier bag. Doyle took it off him and looked inside. It was a set of clothes. He exchanged a wry smile with his boss then dragged himself painfully into the bathroom to change. Cowley knew his agent perhaps too well for his own good.

On the drive to Bodie's apartment Cowley had had to adjust the seat back so Doyle could try to get as comfortable as possible. He was almost horizontal, and even that looked painful.

"Can you manage to get out?" Cowley asked anxiously once they'd arrived.

"Well I got in," Doyle gasped.

His boss went round to the passenger side to see if he could help. With some manoeuvring he eased Doyle out and gave him his crutches. With a bit of experimentation Doyle had worked out that the best method of locomotion was to place one foot on top of the other, haul the crutches forward, then swing his body rigidly forward like a pendulum, adjust balance, and then repeat. It was a slow, painful, muscle-building process, but it worked – kind of - if he ignored the needles travelling up and down his damaged arm.

Doyle had been driven to Bodie's apartment to see what was missing. He took his time surveying the premises. He reckoned that Bodie had taken with him a rucksack, light clothing, passport and gun. His CI5 ID was pointedly placed in the centre of the dining table. There was no letter. They went to Doyle's apartment to see if he'd been there. No message. No note. Nothing. Bodie had gone to ground with whatever problem was gnawing at him. Cowley could see that Doyle was already exhausted, pain pulling at him, but anxiety was also pulling him in the opposite direction. Since sitting was painful, Doyle leaned on the furniture and rested on his good leg to ponder their next move. The Cow was also ruminating.

"If you've covered the ports then he can't leave overtly," Doyle concluded. "However, we know that he still has old contacts who can get him out of the country under the radar. I'll need to find them. Since I can't drive, sir, could I have a chauffeur?"

"You can have whatever you need, laddie," Cowley said expansively.

Cowley knew that it was wrong to drag an agent from his sick-bed, but he also knew that if anyone could find Bodie, Doyle could. Doyle's mind was still in overdrive. He didn't know whether Cowley had considered the option that Bodie may not want or need to leave the country. He could be on a mission of self-destruction. The more Doyle thought about it, the more he convinced himself that he needed to find Bodie as fast as possible before and in case he did anything stupid – and irrevocable.

As Doyle waited in his flat for the driver, he compiled a list of possible contacts to try first. A tooting of a horn outside told him that help had arrived. He managed to get downstairs a step at a time without overbalancing – just. A lift would have been useful but the block didn't have one. Fortunately Doyle was only on the 2nd floor, but it still felt like Mount Everest at the moment. Doyle's driver was Penny Hinchcliffe. Both he and Bodie had fought gallantly for her hand – and any other part of her body she was willing to concede – but without success. Doyle had given up and found other, more willing, pastures. But Bodie wasn't a man to quit so easily and he tested the barricades every now and then to see if they still held. They did. Penny was amused rather than annoyed at their boyish antics. Doyle gave her a list of contacts to try. He'd already made appointments with some of them. He'd even tried ex-girlfriends (those he knew about). His enquiries eventually led him to Monica and he had an interesting conversation with her. He was shocked to see that she'd been beaten up and seemed in almost a worse state than Doyle himself. He didn't reveal his association with Bodie, just that the police were looking at his activities. She did admit that it wasn't him who had given her a wallop (relief at that) but he had arrived at an awkward moment – when her current boyfriend was at home. He didn't appreciate her cast-offs turning up (her description). Curious, Doyle had asked why Bodie had turned up at all since they'd already called off the relationship months ago when she'd gone off with another man. It took a while to wheedle the information out of her.

"I got my dates wrong, didn't I? I panicked and called him."

"You mean you thought you were pregnant?"

She looked embarrassed. "Well, it could have been 'im," she whined petulantly.

"And you broke up, what, three or four months ago and you only now thought you were pregnant by him?" asked Doyle incredulously. She may not be the brightest star in the sky, but surely she could do basic maths. She blushed and still held to the belief that 'it could have been him'. Doyle shook his head and left. Where did Bodie get them from?

At the end of an exhausting evening, Penny insisted that Doyle go home and they'd try again in the morning. He was looking very gaunt and in obvious pain. He didn't invite her in and said he could manage.

Next morning she arrived, as requested, at 7. He was already outside waiting for her. He looked as though he hadn't slept. She hadn't asked about his injuries but it didn't take a doctor to work out where he hurt most. She wasn't aware though of how he got into this state in the first place. Occasionally it was she who got out to interrogate the names on his list, other times he managed to be manipulated out of the car for himself, and for others she got the contact to come to the passenger side to talk to Doyle through the car window – mountains and Mohameds, she'd said. He had a beautiful smile. The end of that day had got them nowhere. She noticed a growing tension and frustration in her colleague. Unknown to her, Doyle had lined up a friend, unconnected with CI5, to ferry him round the streets through the night looking up old buddies of Bodie's who only lurked in shadows in the dead of night. It was there that he struck lucky. A street arab – a friend of a friend of a contact – thought he'd seen Bodie (Doyle was showing his photo around) at a disused factory. Further enquiry suggested that Bodie was holed up there waiting for a passage on a ferry bound for the Med. At least he's not busy killing himself, Doyle thought with relief – if the gossip was true. He couldn't search the building himself and he didn't feel he could call on his mate in the driving seat to do it for him; it was too dark and he wasn't trained in the work. It was very frustrating, but he'd have to leave it till morning. Well, it was morning now, but he'd get a couple of hours rest and then have Penny drive him over to the factory again. He hoped that Bodie wouldn't have moved on by then – if he was there in the first place.

Doyle was waiting outside for her as usual. She'd even got there early – 6.30 – just out of curiosity to see how long he waited for her.

"Ray," she began as she shoe-horned him into the passenger seat to more grunting and gasping – try as he might to contain himself – "you're going to have to give this up for now. You're killing yourself." She misunderstood the snort and the sneer from her colleague. "You are you know. It's no use pretending that the pain will go away."

"Stop fussing Penny and get your foot down. We may already have missed him with all this messing around." He handed her the address.

"Where did you get this – and when?" she asked suspiciously. He had been doing night work, hadn't he?

"Never mind. It looks tasty."

It seemed to take forever to get there, but in reality it was only 20 minutes.

"You stay here. You can't go traipsing about the gantries on your crutches."

The place looked huge in the daylight and Doyle could see what she meant. However he did insist that she at least help him out of the car. He trailed slowly and painfully after her. She took the upper floors. She knew her man well enough to guess that he would drag himself around the ground floor despite any protests or common sense.

Bodie woke from his reverie to an odd sound. It was probably that which had roused him. He was stiff from sleeping on a concrete floor and shuffled to a sitting position. There it was again. A rustling sound followed by a thud, then repeated. Bodie drew his gun and cautiously crawled from his lair and peered round the corner. In the large room he saw a man standing with his head bowed. Bodie gradually got to his feet in curiosity. He watched. The man's head came up slowly. He leaned forward with the crutches then flung himself forward, the legs dragging across the floor. It was painful just to watch him. He had no doubt that it was Doyle. How on earth he'd found him, he had no idea. Nor had he any idea of how he'd managed to arrive. Part of him was angry. He wanted Doyle and CI5 out of his life. He wanted to be left alone. He wanted out. However, it seemed that Doyle was determined not to let that happen. It was cruel to see him staggering about blindly looking for him. He seemed on the point of collapse. Bodie holstered his gun and came out of hiding. He walked slowly behind Doyle. Not wanting to startle him, he deliberately scuffed the dust.

"Don't try to turn, Ray. I'm here." Bodie quickly got in front of his partner and was shocked at the sight of him. Instinctively he reached out and put his hand on his friend's shoulder, trying to look into his eyes. "Dear God, Ray, look at you. How did you find me? Hell, how did you get here?" He shook the shoulder gently.

"Penny!" Doyle called over his shoulder. "Chauffeur," he said turning to Bodie's questions. "Nothing but the best for a knackered agent." Doyle was panting with exertion, sweat trickling down his neck. The men then looked uneasily at each other, not knowing whether rage and mistrust would get the better of them again. Penny came downstairs wrapped in anger.

"Where the hell have you been? Ray's been killing himself trying …"

"Penny, can we just leave the war till later," Doyle interrupted wearily.

She looked at Ray and had to relent. The trio slowly made their way outside. Penny opened the passenger door and took the crutches off Doyle as he clung to the framework. She put them on the roof while she eased her passenger into his seat and buckled his seatbelt. To Bodie it seemed like a well rehearsed procedure. It didn't stop Doyle whimpering in pain though. Penny took the crutches off the roof and shoved them into Bodie's arms. She didn't try to disguise her anger. Bodie was definitely persona non grata. He sat in the back and tried to be invisible. If he leaned forward just a few inches, he could touch his friend again. He didn't try. Doyle, having got his breathing marginally under control, reached for the radio.

"4.5," he gasped, "we've located 3.7 and all in one piece."

"Hallelujah," chirped the operator happily.

"We'll take him home."

Penny snatched the radio off her passenger as she made the main road. "Like hell," she cut in. "We're taking Ray back to hospital."

Doyle didn't protest and Bodie continued to be invisible. Arriving at the hospital Penny still ignored him as she went off to find a doctor and a stretcher. He hung around uselessly as she and the doctors prised their semi-conscious casualty out of the car. Bodie trailed behind with the crutches. He found himself alone with the angry Penny as they waited for news.

"I'm not going to ask what this is all about Bodie, except to ask if Ray knows what it's all about."

"He's very sharp Penny but, no, I don't think even he knows."

"So he drives himself into a grave trying to find you and he doesn't even know why?" She sounded incredulous. It sounded incredible to Bodie too now that she'd put it like that. He had nothing more to say. He looked very lost. She took a little pity on him as he sat with his head in his hands. She got a coffee for him and drew her chair closer to his. He didn't look at her as he stared at his coffee. She slid her hand into his. He looked like he needed a friend. He squeezed her hand in acknowledgement, still too embarrassed to look at her. After not too long they were called in for the consultant's verdict.

"He's exhausted and has osteitis."

"What the hell's that?" asked Bodie, swinging his eyes in Penny's direction. She looked confused and anxious.

"Inflammation of the bone. It's an extremely painful condition. If Mr Doyle had rested as we insisted he did, he would have recovered by now. Instead, it seems, he's been putting his weight on his hip for the past several days and wonders why he's in a paroxysm of agony. We've got him on morphine and anti-inflammatories. At least attached to hospital equipment and drugged to the eyeballs, he may lay still for a while. Failing that, we'll strap him down."

Penny and Bodie smiled in relief and asked if they could see him. The tetchy consultant said not to keep him awake. He needed rest more than anything. Still hand in hand they trailed into the side ward. Doyle was laying flat-out, his swollen arm splinted and his jacket already wet with sweat. He had various bits of equipment around his bed and a feeding tube up his nose. His eyes fluttered into some kind of wakefulness when he heard the door open. Having seen that her friend was finally in the right place, and likely to stay there, Penny started to make a discreet exit.

"Thanks, Penny. I'll try to make it up to you," Bodie said quietly.

"Try making it up to Ray first, eh?" She left, kissing his cheek gently to soften her words.

Bodie looked very embarrassed as he pulled up a chair. He gazed at his friend for a long while until Doyle started to get sleepy as the morphine kicked in.

"I'm sorry, Ray. I just don't know what to say or how to make it up to you. I do know that you didn't rat to Cowley even though you should have done. I'm sorry."

Doyle continued to look at him. Bodie didn't know what else to say.

Eventually his friend said, "Get your house in order, Bodie, and don't take your troubles into the arena. People get hurt that way."

"I will, Ray. I promise. I just need to see someone and try to get something sorted."

"Like a pregnant girlfriend?"

Bodie's eyes popped. "How the hell did you know about that?"

Doyle smiled sleepily. "I suggest you take her through a basic maths course. She's not very bright is she?" He finally closed his eyes. The short conversation had exhausted him. Bodie sat there trying to digest Doyle's cryptic comment and daring to hope that he was right.

Nothing happened for a while. Doyle began to drift off. Then he heard a sigh and the rustle of clothing as Bodie got up. He kept his eyes closed, too tired for further chat. He felt a cold hand on his neck and the warmth of Bodie's breath close on his cheek. To his surprise and dismay, he felt a cold kiss planted on his forehead. The hand on his neck slid down to his shoulder which was given a squeeze.

"You can't know how sorry I am."

Doyle heard footsteps and the turning of the door handle. He finally opened his eyes again.

"Bodie," Doyle called as loud as his failing strength would allow. He was rewarded by Bodie's shocked expression. "You're not going gay on me, are you?"

"I thought you were asleep, you bastard," Bodie grinned, relief pouring out of him.

Doyle winked lewdly before the morphine really got hold of him, a smile drooping on his lips. Bodie left in a lighter mood and was surprised to see Penny waiting for him at Reception. He braced himself for more cold shoulder.

"I thought you could do with some company and something to eat," she said gently.

"Yes to both of that," said Bodie tentatively. He felt less alone then than he had done for some days past.

7


End file.
